


A Prickly Situation

by EbonyMortisRose



Series: The story of Aubrey Jones [4]
Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Aubrey trying to be helpful, Humor, Mention Geoffrey McCullum, Priwen off duty, Vampires Hate Plants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:09:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26463928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EbonyMortisRose/pseuds/EbonyMortisRose
Summary: It is a well document fact that Vampires/Ekons do not like live plant matter. It is a misapprehension that they only have an aversion to Garlic and rosewood.Finding out this knowledge Aubrey Jones decided to protect his new family by putting a few potted plants about Priwen headquarters.Already in the bad books with Mr. McCullum, he decided to get him a special gift, with disastrous consequences.
Series: The story of Aubrey Jones [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1836406
Kudos: 4





	A Prickly Situation

Aubrey stared intently at the untouched half pint in front of him. Trying to block out the chuckles and sniggers from his fellow guardsmen, who sat with him at the bar.  
He knew it had been a mistake to take up their request to join them in their off shift revelries. He knew he would be the main topic of conversation, nay, their main point of ridicule.

He had spent the past fortnight scouring the guards meager archives. Reading every piece of information they had obtained about how to battle Ekons and their ilk.  
They had gathered most of it by nefarious means. Some still bearing The Brotherhood of St Paul's Stoles seals.  
But as one educated in ancient and foreign languages, he felt it his duty to decipher what he could and disseminated any pertinent information found.

He was surprised to be given this duty by Mr McCullum. As it suited his skill set far more amicably, than trudging the cold fog-bound streets wielding a torch or gun.  
But he later realised that it was a cleverly guarded excuse, just to keep a close eye on him. As often he would look up from a dusty tome to find Mr McCullum standing in the doorway just watching him.  
He had found that the man had an eerie ability to move as silently as a shadow. And on many occasions, he had cried out in alarm when a pot of tea or a slice of toast was placed on top of his mounting fort of paperwork, and no approaching footfall had been heard beforehand.  
McCullum, of course, would apologise every time, and would always show genuine interest in his latest findings.  
But there were times, when he would meet his gaze and probably fueled by fatigue or the poor lamplight, he could swear he saw his visage shift into something more ghastly.  
His concerned baby blue eyes became flat and dull. His soft pink lips became thin and pale. His usually ruddy outdoors complexion taking on a sallow, pale pallor - like a fresh corpse he thought.  
His waking deliriums were more than likely aided by the overuse of his nerve tonics. Which he had ashamedly been doubling the dose of, of late; anything to stave off sleep.

Whilst translating some memoirs, written by a person called William Marshal. He found out that it wasn't just Garlic and Rosewood that harmed the undead. But all living plant matter. In some cases, it was known to burn and others just irritate the senses.  
It was with this information, that he hoped to prove to his fellow guardsmen that not all weapons must be forged in fire.  
And having spent far too much time in this gloomy theatre basement, he thought adding a touch of colour to the place might raise their spirits. He even had a special gift in mind for Mr McCullum.

****************

He looked at his shrivelled red hands, and wondered if the scullery maids once employed at his estate had hands such as these at the end of the day; carbolic soap was a dreadful substance.  
He was then nudged out of his melancholic state by a rather painful elbow in the ribs. And looked up into the flushed face of Mr McKenzie.  
A burly Yorkshireman, who had gained quite the reputation in the ranks for his lucky escapes. Confirmed by the fact that his face was riddled with deep scars, but none had taken out his eyes.  
He was, however, missing one ear, which he kept in a tobacco tin in his pocket and proudly showed off to new recruits whenever he got the chance.  
Followed with the harrowing tale of how he...how did he put it? - 'Rammed his fist down the Skals throat to get it back.'  
  
“Hey!” - Nudge - “Hey Toffy, tell Jenkins what ya did.” McKenzie exclaimed, with a slight slur to his deep northern tone.  
  
Aubrey could feel his cheeks glowing and mumbled. “I would rather not Sir. I think I have served my time as a court jester. And find this whole situation rather embarrassing. I implore you, please can we just let it lie?”  
  
But he could see the man was well into his cups and had a new captive audience. And so after impressively downing his pint glass in one go, he bellowed out.  
“So, Toffy here found out that leeches don’t like plants right.”  
  
The few Priwen who had not already heard this debacle, and were not otherwise engaged in other activities throughout the bar, looked from the large man to Aubrey and nodded.  
  
“So, him being all educated and money ta burn...” - “Sir I do not have…” McKenzie ignores his plead interruption and bellows over him.  
  
“He went and bought a load of plants from that mute woman down on Stonebridge Road.”  
  
“She's a Florist, and her name is Camellia.” He muttered more for his own gratification at trying to defend the woman's honour. Even knowing his words were drowned out by the towering inebriate next to him.  
  
“Ya probably seen em around tha outpost?” - More nods.  
  
There's then another jab to his ribs, this one nearly knocks him off his stool.  
“Tell em Toffy, tell em what ya got the boss for his office!”  
  
The man's words were becoming more slurred by the minute, and he hoped to god that this would be the last rendition of this tale.  
He sighed, stood up from his seat, and with shoulders back and head held high, he turned to face his jury.  
  
“I procured a Kaktus Gymnocalyciu because I felt it best represented our fearless leaders best qualities.”  
  
He expected the looks of confusion. He had said the Latin verb on purpose, just out of spite. But Mr McKenzie was having none of it.  
A meaty hand clasped him on the shoulder, nearly driving him back onto his barstool, and with a glassy mad glint in his eyes, the Yorkshireman barked.  
  
“He got him a fucking Cactus!”  
  
As before, shocked laughter then erupts from the audience; and of all the people to venture forth a question, it was his friend Mr Jenkins.  
  
“Flowers have meanings d-d-don't they? What does a C-c-cactus mean?”  
  
He rolled his eyes and thought, ‘Et Tu, Leroy?’. He's about to explain the manly qualities and attributes of such a plant when just as before Mr McKenzie takes centre stage.  
  
“That he's a short arsed pricky bastard!” He then bursts out laughing, spittle flying everywhere.  
  
More shocked laughter ensues and he can't look Leroy in the eye. Instead, he just pleads for the last time into the baying crowd.  
  
“Mr McKenzie, that was not my message at all!”  
  
“Well, McCullum thought that was what it meant. It’s why you av been stuck on laundry duty till Christmas!”  
  
He looks down once more at his redraw hands, that now match his flushed face.  
Then he feels a gentle tap on his shoulder and looks up into the grinning face of his friend. “Don't look so miserable Aubrey. Look around, the lads p-p-probably haven't laughed this much in ages.”  
  
He was about to say ‘yes at my expense’ when he did stop to look.  
He saw men and a few women, crowded into the small pub. Nestled at tables or leaning against the bar, smoking, drinking or playing cards.  
Some had the usual dower expression on their faces. Tired, browbeaten from whatever tragedy had befallen them, that he knew no levity could alleviate.  
But most wore smiles and conversed merrily with those around them. Expanding on the tale already told, causing further laughter to erupt.  
  
He then smiles and nods to himself, realising in his own way he was a vital part of their ranks.  
His findings had aided in an ongoing investigation into the root cause of this dreadful vampire epidemic, that was abroad at the moment.  
He had also discovered recipes for plant matter to be weaponized, which along with the translation of the memoir, aided in reducing Mr McCullum's sentence from Sewer duty to laundry duty, he thought. 

He then looks back over his shoulder at his abandoned glass, containing the dishwater they called beer and said with some hope in his voice.  
  
“Do you think they might have sherry?”  
  
His friend smiles and says, shaking his head, “You're such a toff Aubrey.”  
  
He can’t help but beam back, whilst adjusting his cuffs and flicking off none existent lint.  
  
“One shall take that as a compliment, Mister Jenkins”

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: In the language of flowers the cactus represents endurance, tenacity, and strength in the face of adversity—they survive even when it seems impossible.  
> If it's a flowering one it represents lust. :)


End file.
